Page 103 of Kings of Violence

Sierra is still visibly seething, and I wrap an arm around her — like that’s going to calm her down at all. It only makes her turn her glare on me.

It’s probably a good thing I don’t find her threatening at all. Her anger is cute, even if what caused it isn’t.

As I survey the ballroom, I realize we’ve got a small problem. Even though the masks sort of disguise us, it means we can’t recognize anybody else, either. Sure, up close, I might know who I’m talking to, but right now I can’t pick Don Marino out of the crowd.

Kotya curses under his breath. He must be thinking the same thing. “We’ll need to spread out a bit,” he says softly. He places ahand on the small of Sierra’s back. “Sierrochka, you’re with me. We’ll make the rounds and assess who’s here. Yuri, Nikolai—you know what to do.”

Yuri nods. “Got it, boss,” he answers in Russian. After a brief glance at the rest of us, he peels off toward the bar.

I wave to Kotya and Sierra, then peel off in the opposite direction.

The plan was for Konstantin to keep Don Marino busy, maybe suss out exactly how much he knows. Yuri and I are here to look for opportunities. I’d been hoping to spot a friend or two here, but I’m going to give up on that and focus on the guards and any service entrances.

This isn’t going to be easy, but I know we can pull it off.

I edge my way through the crowd and toward the wall. There’s seating around there, with several people chatting with each other. Half the men have a woman on their lap, and none of them are wearing more than Sierra is.

I ignore them and head to the curtained off area, where I notice men and women in catering uniforms walking in and out. Sure enough, there’s a door to the kitchens there. Unfortunately, there’s also a guard, and he checks every caterer’s badge before letting them through.

Damn.

I guess that means I need one of those badges, and a catering uniform, if I want to make use of that specific door. Still, good to know that it’s there.

“I don’t want to stay that late,” an annoyed voice says. “Why didn’t you bring Danilo instead?”

I glance over to the speaker. He’s a man around my age, I think, although it’s hard to tell with the full face mask he’s wearing. He’s talking to an older man, who is shaking his head.

“We’re staying. I’m not going to insult Don Marino by rejecting a private invite. And I brought you, Raul, because you aren’t going to get distracted the way your brother does.”

I wrack my brain, trying to remember who these two are. Unfortunately I’m not as familiar with all the players in Benton City.

The younger man’s body straightens, but his head swivels to me. I think I notice his eyes narrowing at me through the slits of the mask.

“Never mind. I’m going to find some other people to talk to until then.” He stalks off, disappearing into the throng of people.

The older man looks at me and purses his lips. “Never have children. They’re all ungrateful brats.”

“I’m going to be a father soon,” I blurt out, only to pause and try to figure out why I said that. Theungrateful bratSierra’s going to be carrying isn’t going to be my child. Even if the baby has my blood running through their veins, it’s still going to be Konstantin’s. I flash him a grin, even though the emotions running through me are mixed at best. “I don’t guess you have any advice for me?”

“Too late for you,” he grunts, taking a sip from his glass. “Just have more than one and hope one of them ends up being worth it.”

More than one.

I can barely handle the idea of one brat running around, let alone multiple. I know Konstantin has plans to get Sierra knocked up often. I’m not sure she realizes that, though. I think she’s assuming he’ll stop after one.

I snort. Yeah. I’m not going to be the one to tell her any differently. “Yeah. Got it.”

Those are problems for the future. I’ve got more immediate issues to contend with. Like the “private invite” the two had been arguing about.

The son had mentioned not wanting to stay that late, so I guess that means there’s an afterparty of some sort—one that we aren’t invited to. I debate trying to pry more details out of this man, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself.

“Hope you enjoy the rest of the party,” I say. “Don Marino went all out.”

The man snorts. “Yes. Thanks to me. I brought at least half of the entertainment.”

Interesting.

“What kind of entertainment?” I ask. I don’t know most of the people here, so I don’t think I’ll be able to identify the man by anysort of details, but I’m curious. Besides, Konstantin will appreciate anything I can find out — if not about this afterparty, but about the guests themselves.